


life beyond the milky way

by kinpika



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 100 Themes, 1000 word chapters, 50 Themes, Additional Characters to be added, Alien parentage, Family, Galra Keith (Voltron), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Canon, Prologues, Rating May Change, Survival
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 09:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7502688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinpika/pseuds/kinpika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They tell you these kinds of stories before your next big launch. Crash landing on a planet, getting kidnapped by some evil empire, having to escape. Becoming a Big Damn Hero. Not everyone wants to be the hero, though. Most just want to survive.</p><p> </p><p>Snapshots of Voltron in 1000-word vignettes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm doing this in 1000-word snapshots, most are in Keith's POV (a little later on, of course), and yet some are not. Since Keith's parents are still up in the air, I've listed his mother as part of the "original character" tag. And of course... since we have a limited cast of Galra/Druids/Humans/other alien races, "original characters" again haha
> 
> Using 100 themes as a basis... plus another 50 themes, if it calls for it. Which it might.

She missed her mother. Missed her home on Earth, and the rainy season. There was always a smell in the air, heavy and warm, just before the rain fell. Her father loved that the most, especially when he sat in the back of their house, legs hanging over the balcony, looking so wistful. Sometimes, his ears changed, twitching just before the skies opened. Always, he cried, year after year. She never knew the reason why, and knew she would never find out now.

What would her brothers say if they saw her like this? Her older brother would scoff, probably. He had never approved of her life choices, saying she would never be happy like this. Maybe he was right. She expected he would say ‘I told you so’.

They had told her not to go on the mission. Not to run head first into danger. Promises of adventure were not what her mother wanted for her. No, her parents wanted her to settle down, get some higher education in her that didn’t involve piloting something small enough to spin through the Grand Canyon freely, side by side with her friends. Didn’t want her up in the air, covering a cruise liner through the skies, simply because her friend had gotten blasted the night before. They wanted her home. Did they even remember her? 

She missed the freedom, and her fingers flexed, the first time in — how long? Too long. It was so dark in this little cell. At least, she assumed it was a cell, but not as small as all those stories told her they would be. This was supposed to be a story, right? Some really long nightmare before her next mission. They were going to shoot off towards Pluto in the morning. Strange readings around the outer reaches of the Milky Way. She had volunteered. No one usually did. But she had also been _that_ one pilot they could rely on for the outrageous things. She had to live up to her reputation, right?

“I’m sorry.” Her voice cracks around each syllable. Those in the cell with her simply look on. Nothingness. Minimal lighting, fighting for scraps. Her arm hurts. Nose twitches. Hasn’t been able to change in so long, so very long. What would her father say? Would he be disappointed? Back home, he had never approved of her using ‘magic’, as he called it. But it had been ages now since she had changed, and being trapped as she was, like this, hurt too much.

For a moment she considered changing her hair, to expel some of that pressure in her system. No, no no no, she can’t do that. They would know, straight away. The little censors on the collar would pick up the change. They did the first night, when she had tried to change, to make her wrists thin enough to get out of the cuffs. Something was off, but they never realised what it was. Teeth sink into her lower lip, as she burns away in her corner of the cell. Hopefully they would never know.

A pain behind her right eye, deep and thrumming, going on and on, only becoming more and more noticeable. Hadn’t stopped since they had landed on Pluto. Had they landed? This was all a sick joke, right? Hal, in engineering, he was doing this. Maybe Eva had joined in, too. She didn’t like that she didn’t get the job, and made it clear. They wouldn’t let there be a takeoff without their main pilot, right? Chains clink and — ah, still not a dream (please be a dream).

The doors crack open, and she squints at the burst of light. In another life, she might’ve cooed over how her jailers looked. A dulled sense of humour still found the ears amusing, except when they kicked their way through, grabbing the chains binding her. _No!_ she’s screaming, she thinks, but there is sound. It’s her voice. 

“Let me go!”

Kicking. It feels so good to _move_ , even if she’s sure she’ll break a toe, maybe a hand. Her pride is still intact, that’s fine. It’s _all fine_. They ignore her as they drag her out. None of the other aliens fight, speak. Huddle back. Just because she’s different. Human. The last human in this goddamn place. Any sort of sadness is completely and totally overridden by survival. 

You have to survive. Her technician was the one to tell her that, as she was dragged off. They had said her name then, too. What was her name? She didn’t remember. So long. Too long. _Fight fight fight._ Had to keep fighting, couldn’t let them win. Couldn’t let the team down now.

They hit her with something. A pinch in her neck, and the world is slipping out from underneath her. Hah, _the world_. Through the last window she saw, there was no world. Place. Galaxy. Milky Way. Ah, my name. Her father had named her that, because it was the one thing he had loved the most, since everything he loved was in it. Too poetic for her tastes. Lip starts wobbling, her feet dragging. The fight was leaving her. Whatever they got into her system had been amped up since the last lot. Worse than the tequila on the night of her friend’s divorce.

Don’t think of that now. Who says I’m thinking of that? I can’t think of that. Home. Where is home? Nowhere.

I wanna go home. Her last thought, as her eyes finally slide shut, the last of whatever it was finally getting to her. Maybe it wasn’t the last of it. 

All she sees is big, yellow eyes, surrounding her. All she hears is the whir of machines, in the distance, soldiers. Probably. Money on soldiers. Lots of soldiers. Later, she might be able to remember in the haze, that this would confirm where she ended up. A big ship in space. Far, far away from home. Far from the Milky Way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also i am quickly posting the first chap before bed i have like another 2/3 to post later... today... after work hah
> 
> also, again, debating making this... feature a ship. to be seen in 50 chapters. and i do have a name for... keith's mum. tbs later


	2. Chapter 2

If he were being honest, he was still adjusting to being amongst the stars once more. But, there was no room for honesty, not amongst present company. Liars, thieves, scheming, passing bets over hands as they watched those unfortunate enough to have been captured below. A pitiful sight, and Thace had hoped there would be nothing like this when he had awoken once more. When he had set the timer on his pod, there had been a small hope in him that things would have changed.

They hadn’t. Thace knew he should have known better. Not with how everything went, all those years ago. Spirally pitifully south, a nosedive towards the surface. He would never forgive himself for taking part, for letting himself get caught up in the moment, the charisma. _Change_. All he had wanted was change. Back then, he had been promised it. Ah, to be young and foolish again. 

He winces with the crowd, as yet another glorified gladiator was struck down by the champion. Another thing that he was happy to turn his nose up at. Such advanced technology, so many places his people had been, and yet they still roared at the bloodshed. Maybe he had been frozen for too long. Prorok had complained only yesterday that he seemed to have developed a keen sense of superiority in the time they had been asleep.

Gritting his teeth, Thace looks on. They could gossip all they wanted, but Thace was not willing to be one of them. Far too complacent with how _easily_ they continued to conquer. Not a single word said out-loud, only kept to places like this, where they could hide amongst the rabble. Thace ignores the slick sounds of metal through skin, chastising himself for not working in the simulator longer to readjust himself to the sensitivity. 

Hyperawareness was a side effect of the sleep. Every nerve ending on his body was set alight, and whilst his eyes swerved back and forth, catching the same sorts of deals here and there, he smothered it. An awful thing to do, going against every last part of his training. But, he thought, since how it all went, he could forget his training, forget his previous life.

When they bring in the new rabble, Thace wishes he could forget. But it was so hard to, when his hands still itched for the console in front of him, when he _remembered_ everything burning. How many friends had fallen at his hands, all because he was told it was for the benefit of themselves. Young and foolish. Taken in by the words of a madman, and it took him too long to realise. Thace had only broken out of his sleep because it was willed. 

Although, he would admit to a small amount of thankfulness. The screams were starting to get to him. 

“You are not paying attention.”

Blinking, Thace focuses. Prorok looked relatively unamused, and motioned his head towards those nearby. Their mission. Follow the dealings of particular bets, and eradicate those found at the end. Grunt work, but something Thace had found he looked forward too. It kept him away from a console, stopped him from the longing that filled him whenever he looked out towards the stars.

“Three men on our right have been recording dealings all night. The shorter one has a holographic computer on his wrist, likely running the numbers. I _have_ been paying attention.” He was unable to keep the snappiness out of his voice. Oh well, he thought, as Prorok scowled. If it was decided Prorok was going to have the title and office, then Thace had decided he would ignore that tidbit of information and continue as he was.

There was no need for him to fulfil the role of a right leg anymore, anyway. Not since he had forcefully configured his lion to hurtle as far as away as possible, far from the reaches of Zarkon. Too much had been at stake, and Thace had yet to see if he could find it, seek it out. Couldn’t risk it. Zarkon had greeted him personally upon awakening. Thace had been unsurprised he had managed to live this long.

“Shall we move then?”

Raising a brow, Thace could not help the little curl of his lips. “But _Commander_ , I follow _your_ lead.” There was no hiding the taunt in his voice, which incited the expected reaction. 

 _Attention_. Immediately upon them, as Thace directs Prorok’s ire towards the men at their right. Far too much excitement ignites, as attention is pulled from the gladiatorial battles below. One of the men, the one with the computer, tries to run, and Thace couldn’t help the smile as he had anticipated such a thing. At least the man had enough sense to hire muscle, as Prorok snarled and Thace watched his fist snap out, collecting one bodyguard in the jaw. 

Ah, this was what Thace missed the most about the old days. Scrummages in darker parts of the galaxy. His arms wrap around his target, and Thace tackles him to the ground. Almost too easy, giving him a momentary thought that it was probably intentionally easy, even if he was wrangling the computer off of the man’s wrist. “Do not tempt me to cut your arm off,” he hisses, when the man resists.

Thace was disappointed that men were made of far weaker mettle than back in his day, as the man hands over the computer with a cry of “don’t hurt me, please!” For good measure, he levels a firm kick to the sternum, before turning his attention back to where Prorok had managed to wrangle one man down, the other clutching his head. Holding up the computer, Thace grins at the look Prorok gives him as he realises. 

Realises he had been played entirely, directly into one of Thace’s little plans. Nothing had changed since all those years ago, and Prorok might kill him for it one of these days. But not yet. 


	3. Chapter 3

“We have received readings for lions, recently.”

A sentence Thace had not wanted to hear. He could not deny that his back straightened just that little more than it usually was, and furrowed his brow as Zarkon stood before them. Back towards them, hiding his face. Thace did wonder what expression he may be wearing, but could not deny the greater feeling of not wanting to see. There was something about him, since Thace had awoken, that had him more afraid than he was willing to admit (and he had wrongly thought nothing could scare him anymore).

“It has been… some time since we have had any signatures.” Zarkon pauses, and Thace feels the kick to comment on how he was still as dramatic as he was when they were still young, declaring who was victor based on simple hand to hand combat. He does not follow through with it, as Zarkon had never slept, never come back as he was, only slightly more greyed around the edges. Thace doubted he would even remember how they were.

“How is it possible that _now_ , after all this time, we have found them?” Sendak is the one to speak up. Thace had only met the man twice, since awakening. Strong, fearless. A good man unfortunately blind to the greater picture — something any leader would want in a commander. Zarkon had always been talented at finding reliable men.

Finally turning to them, Thace notices how Prorok stiffens. Despite the incident several weeks prior, and Thace heaping the praise on his commander’s choice of operation, he was worried. Not that Thace blamed him entirely. After all, the money trail had turned cold, and they had yet to determine who was leaking Quintessence. Even if Thace had spoken about Prorok being the one to find the middle man, there was still that bullseye sitting on his chest from that small piece of information. 

An uncomfortable silence follows, as Zarkon motions to a soldier behind them. Not daring to look back, Thace hears the slide of doors, some murmuring. A language he doesn’t quite recognise, accompanied by a chill that settled deep in his bones. Oh no, he couldn’t help the surge of _fear_ through him, what had Zarkon joined with? Why was he so desperate for these lions, after all this?

“This is Haggar, one of the Druids who has _agreed_ to aid in finding the lions.”

For a price, Thace adds, even though the words went unspoken. Heavy, hanging over them, as Haggar seems to glide past without a single look. Perhaps, to her, they were simply mindless followers. She settled beside Zarkon, an amicable distance between them, but the difference in their persons were unmistakable. Thace could not truly decide who was more terrifying out of them, as Haggar had a smile to her lips that spoke of years of something hidden and awful, while years had turned Zarkon into just that.

It was not the first time Thace regretted not taking all those opportunities all those years ago to just disappear. He would not be at this moment now, watching as two powerful forces built an uneasy alliance, that outwardly seemed like a fool’s journey. What else was in it for the druid, Thace had to wonder. Another night of little sleep was upon him, it seemed. Not that he was getting much sleep these days, he thought sourly. 

She speaks, addressing them like lower life forms, and Thace is unsurprised Zarkon does not move to correct her. So this was not a first meeting, a first appearance to the masses. A simple order of business to Zarkon’s newest commanders and underlings. Was she just as long lived as their leader? From where he stood, Thace could just barely see under her hood, but noted the curves along her cheeks, stark and bright despite the dim lighting of the area. 

But he recognised those marks, without a doubt. Of course, Thace considered the possibility that such marks were not solely exclusive the race that Zarkon had obliterated all those years ago, but it was hard to simply push aside. Irony struck true that Zarkon would employ the services of his most hated enemy, but yellow glowered at something Zarkon said, ruining such a theory. Damn, that would have explained how they were able to find locations of lions. 

Back to square one. Thace still had yet to see if he could find his old blue friend, never able to find a private moment to secure a line. Surely it would have found its way somewhere safe and quiet by now, precious cargo on board. A sliver of hope that his friend had made it alive, unharmed, managing to merge into a society without attracting attention. There was that risk, that the pod would malfunction on the way, no matter how sturdy Altean technology was, but Thace had taken that, to make sure someone would survive.

More chatter, an argument that brings Thace back. Zarkon seemed fired up over something, and Sendak had taken a step forward. They would be calling him silver balls after a stunt like that. 

“Then why have we not retrieved the red lion already?”

“Unfortunately, having been in such long contact with their first pilots, the lions have picked up… personality traits that make them unresponsive.” Haggar spoke, with a certain laugh in her voice. A joke, that perhaps only two other people in the room understood. Thace finally let his eyes slide over to where Zarkon was staring at him, down the line.

“Yes, the red lion’s first paladin was very individualistic and personal,” he says, nonchalantly. “It would not be hard to imagine it would not like those who force their way in.”

Thace would never get used to how Zarkon was so different from how he had been, especially not with how his lip curled, words thrown across the floor. “Then find a way in.”

Fighting the need to argue, Thace simply nods. “Of course.” 

 


	4. Chapter 4

_Can you still sense her?_ Once again, Castor rolled the question around in his head. His abilities were never the level of his mother’s, and potentially would never be. His wife had known that. And yet, she had still insisted on finding their granddaughter. How was he supposed to live up to some glory that his father had spread through the generations after him, riddling them with ridiculous tales of Altean powers.

Perhaps his brother would have been able to, had he survived the landing, had his pod not failed before they had even reached the Milky Way. His parents had always considered Castor the weaker one, and this was his defining moment. Shifting on his knees, Castor clasped his hands once more, squeezing his eyes shut. Longevity was starting to wear on him, making him far more cynical than usual. A snort leaves him as he lingers too long on that thought.

Leaning forward, Castor pressed his forehead against the cool stone of the grave, and let himself look sidelong towards his wife’s. Their children were besides themselves, but especially their middle son, his granddaughter’s father. There was really no way for him to comfort his child, and Castor held many regrets at separating himself so far from his family, purposely throwing up walls. Hiding so many things about life before them, it was no surprise his children had not visited in so long. Especially when his wife had passed.  

“What will it take for me to be like him?” he mumbles, not expecting any answer from the dead. Still such a strange concept for him to accept, even though he had always known it would be like that. Back when he had lived on Altea, it was so normal to still be surrounded by family after generations. Here, humanity was so fragile, so easy to lose.

His wife should have accepted that, as should his children now. Even with Altean blood, they were still _human_. Disappearing was such a normal thing for him, and they didn’t understand. Would not understand what a disgrace he was to such a prestigious name, and he tells himself to concentrate, not fall down that pit again. Those in the cemetery, also paying respects to those lost, did not need another reason to stare at him.

It would not be right to take his anger out on his granddaughter’s gravestone either. Castor remembered when she had been born, tiny, emergency birth. Life support for far too long, and Castor could still see her hooked up to various machines, if he concentrated hard enough. Dove far enough back in his memories, watched her grow strong, skinned knees at six after an attempt to climb trees, thirteen and hair cut at awkward angles. Finding a red leather jacket in the attic at nineteen and claiming it, even though she swam in the material. 

With a grunt, Castor finally stood, hands still lingering. He was still not sure what drew him to believe that this may hold the answer. Silly human superstitions that he had spent several hours looking up on the internet had definitely influenced him. Maybe there was some merit in them, that if the dead wasn’t responding they weren’t truly dead. Gritting his teeth, Castor bowed once more to his wife’s headstone. She would have been able to give him counsel on how to proceed — she knew him better than he knew himself, after all.

One last backwards glance, and Castor walked out from the memorial. Briefly, he entertained the idea of seeking out his parents, or even his younger sister, to see if they knew how to proceed, where to go next. Although, he thought as he passed through crowds, they were as far removed from society as he was, even if he still insisted on living amongst humans. At least he had not completely decided to hide from the world. Whilst he wouldn’t answer the phone, Castor was content to simply watch it all pass by.

There was always that temptation, to sneak into the Galaxy Garrison, to jettison himself back into space. Being grounded on Earth after watching Altea burn was not ever his plan. But he had been young, when everything happened. Shoved into stasis in the back of an unfamiliar lion with only the clothes on his back. In every book he had read since they had landed, humans often romanticised just what kind of life that was. Quite frankly, it was amusing, and he had spent several nights with his wife back then, curled up, reading them aloud. 

If only they had interviewed a real alien, he had often said, then they would understand. Being marooned with nowhere to call home. Castor stared out the window of the train, and did have to wonder if this was what the human’s liked to call a ‘midlife crisis’. His eldest daughter always teased him that he was still acting like a teenager, whilst his youngest argued that he was far too much of a bitter old man. 

Perhaps, for his wife’s sake, he would try harder to find his granddaughter. She had fallen ill around the time of the launch, and her health had only worsened with each bit of bad news. Castor could convince himself otherwise, but he knew it was the grief that truly made a difference on her recovery. At least it had been painless — something he still told himself. Those few days on Altea before being forced to leave, Castor had never thought it were possible that there was several ways to die other than illness and old age. Young and foolish. Those were the days of blissful ignorance.

Castor lets his feet guide him, losing himself in the city. He knew what to do. Knew what he had to do, not as his right but as his purpose. Better to do it now than to wait far too long, and lose it all. Far too many regrets, and this wouldn’t be one of them.


	5. Chapter 5

Too many tests. Far too many. Where were her arms? Heavy, not heavy enough. Lips moving but no words, never any words? Had they taken her voice? Mother used to tell her stories of fish losing voices once. Was it fish? No, yes. Fish. _Fiiiiiiiish_. 

Her tongue shoots out, attempting to wet her lips, but it wasn’t enough. Skin had cracked and dried, as the effects of being in deep space were finally starting to settle in. Humans were not built for extended travel, and no matter how many times she blinked, the room would not stop spinning. Words were not coming to her, as her tongue moved heavily in her mouth. Mind too foggy, she might have called this the alien equivalent of morphine, had it not completely rendered her useless.

Shadows moves around the room, and she could hear voices, but didn’t understand the words. Squabbles and grunts, something that sounded like something out of a movie about the ice age, and yet probably made perfect sense to those using such horrible sounds. She snorts, amusing herself about dying at the hands of a saber tooth tiger, because one of her nieces had dug up hundred year old movies that one time, annoying everyone in the house by playing over and over.

Ah, now her eyes were leaking. They weren’t supposed to do that. But she wasn’t sad, was she? 

Eyes roll, and even if her toes wiggled of their own accord in her boots, there was still no movement. No more arguments of “what do you want with me?!” just a haunting laugh, hair that tickled her cheek. When the first lot had hit her, she had wanted to die, veins burning all the way from her scalp to the bottom of her feet. Let herself be consumed, because it would’ve been a nicer outcome than being strapped to a table. This was the sort of stuff she read about in history books, and sometimes saw on the news. Nothing would have prepared her for what happened in space.

Nothing clears, but the tears come on stronger. Space. Nothing for miles and miles, and yet somehow. Everything. That was supposed to be her safe place, the thing her father told her about. Something her grandfather had always wished for. Stories about her great-grandmother, leaping between stars, were just things to explain death. But it was a comfort, to know something so big and terrifying, existed, and yet was

Pain. Sharp and shooting up her legs. Like little bolts of electricity biting through alien morphine, making her twitch and break. She would not break, no matter how much they did. She had to get home, had to warn them. Return the jacket she stole from her grandfather, apologise to her father for being a jerk on the day of the launch. I’m sorry, she thinks, I’m sorry. 

Bad dream. It should just be a bad dream. Gravity in the ship was messing her up again. Like a part of her just wouldn’t listen to man-made machines, and insisted on running around in her head. Gotta fight, it would say, get up and _go go go_. She wasn’t a fighter. She was just a pilot with no crew. Opening an eye, making it through the pain just enough to see what was happening. 

Soon to be a pilot with no legs. Was that what they were doing oh god no please no no no

Thrashing on the bed, there’s those hisses again, voices rising. Arguments. She might not know the language, but she got the gist of it. Hit up the strange human again. Make them stop. Let us finish. Like hell, she thinks, and kicks again. Buckles begin to loosen, and had she been in any other state of mind, she might’ve found it ironic that aliens used something very human. But, that didn’t matter. Like hell they were going to get her _legs_.

A loose foot catches an alien in the nose, and aliens do bleed red. She doesn’t let herself get distracted, as they try to pounce. Another burn up her leg, and it’s not the same intensity as before — this was designed to _hurt_. Something smelt like burnt flesh, and the slap of leather on her skin has her yelp. No matter, she tells herself, don’t worry about that. Hands free. Aliens do not like to be punched in the face, note to self. 

They stop fighting her, backing off. She takes advantage of the wariness to free herself entirely, dragging her lame leg as she slipped off the bed. Leaning against it, she throws a hand around blindly, until she lands on something sharp and cool. Holding a scalpel in hand (at least, she thinks it is), raised just enough, she speaks, just barely. It was still so hard to _think_ , to feel. The only words that came out were the ones she had been repeating since they had pulled her from the crash. “What do you want with me? Where is my crew? What have you _done_?”

Clicks, accompanied by grunts. One of them slips out of the room, but she didn’t care. The room was spinning, and it could be a combination of gravity, space, humanity and alien drugs. Or, it could be how her leg was bleeding out, and she might just die like this. Was that possible, she thinks. How lame.

“They said you were fighting back. Interesting.”

All at once, every hair on her body stands up on end. _That language_. How many years had it been since it was spoken in her own house, until her grandfather had forbidden it. No one was supposed to speak it. No one was supposed to know.

Her head turns towards the owner of the voice, tongue heavy. How was she supposed to respond, as great yellow eyes stared down. Swallows thickly, wets her lips. Her blood runs cold, as the scalpel in her hand begins to waver. Help me, she says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i will actually have her name mentioned soon... it's getting kind of hard trying to stop using pronouns every third sentence just to make it clear who the subject is. 
> 
> anyway, thank you for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

A red lion. Of all things to find in the universe, it had to be the red lion. Irony was not lost on Thace as he paced in his room. He had thought its signatures would have been long hidden, if not by Alfor then its paladin. Had he truly misjudged the red paladin? Another moment of grief, as he had thought, at the time of the attack, that he should have sent both lions far away, together. There had been time, and Thace could replay those last few hours over in his head, so easily, working out another way. Maybe he would set up a simulation, just so he could see once more if he was right to only send the paladin and her family into his lion, over her own.

“Thace, you are still here, I see.”

“Prorok, wonderful to see you, as always.” Thace does not attempt to keeping anything out of his voice, as he was sure he had locked his room quite firmly. No one, not even Zarkon, was allowed to enter. They were to imagine he was dead for a few hours. Leave a message and he would get back to them later.

“I do not appreciate your tone.”

“And I do not appreciate your _intrusion_. I doubt it has any relevance, regardless.”

“Lord Zarkon wants you to spearhead the mission.”

“Of course he would.” Unable to keep the displeasure out of his voice, Thace seated himself at his desk, tapping along holographic screens, finding the information of last location. Flicking open several files, Thace misses the way Prorok looks.

“Arrogance does not become you.”

“Neither does self-pity or pushing the blame of personal mistakes on another, Prorok. You know as well as I do that _Lord_ Zarkon only has me on this mission because of my connection to the lions. This is nothing about currying favour.”

He had little time for Prorok’s insecurities. Being in suspended animation had seemed to only increase Prorok’s anxiety, and worsened Thace’s temper. Not a working combination, under any situation. How the blue lion had ever been the one to choose him still bewildered Thace, and he was not sure he would ever understand. 

It didn’t help Prorok was the first of their race to be put forward as the blue paladin. Thace had simply stumbled into the lion, not technically part of the competition. He had never meant to be there, and Prorok had no qualms about reminding him.

“Will you be joining me?”

“No. I have other business to attend to.” Looking out the corner of his eye, Thace notes that Prorok does not go to explain. Odd of him to be so closed off about _business_. Thace did have a feeling that it had something to do with the druids, but he made no move to comment. No need to inflame anymore problems that still sat with Prorok. And whilst he did have some concerns over druids being allowed to wander so freely around the ship, he had no qualms with staying as far away from them as possible. Their powers were still unknown; a frightening revelation. Perhaps the best sort of weapon for Zarkon, if he were so paranoid. Unfortunate that he was just _confident_ , which was potentially far worse than a paranoid, powerful man.

“Am I to lead a team, then? Men of my own choosing… or yours?”

“Commander Sendak will be joining you. Apparently, the man has had little experience outside of our system.”

Of course. Thace repeats the words over and over. It felt like a trap, a sure way for something to _go wrong_. Send in a man who does not know how to handle all foreign terrain with a man who was there at the beginning. Only one would make it back home. Clenching his fists, Thace has to stop himself from overstepping. Prorok’s displeasure at being the one to brief him was beginning to show, and he did not want to alert the other man to anything. Best to keep Prorok in the dark, where it was far safer.

“Departure time?”

“In three hours. Bay one.” With that, Prorok leaves, a swift heel turn, grinding his teeth as he left. Something he had never grown out of, although it was not as prominent as when they were children. Thace had no time to linger, only shoving a thought back about bringing back the man a souvenir, like he used to when they both called Altea home. Although, that would likely bring up an argument about how Prorok had managed to get himself grounded indefinitely. Never mind the fact that this little exploration had danger written all over it.

Besides, expecting the red lion to be somewhere open and exposed was a silly thing. With a sigh, Thace ran his hand over the controls, dimming his room, bringing up the screens, brighter, larger. Walking between them as he flipped through images, spikes in energy. He had not felt a pull to a lion in so long, but the red lion had never been his. Considering he had also forcibly cut off the blue lion from himself in an attempt to save it, Thace was sure he may never feel that power again.

“Where would she hide you?” he mumbles as he looks at worlds yet untouched by Galra’s poisonous hands. Perhaps Zarkon was using the red lion as an excuse to find more Quintessence, to suck the life from someone else. A reconnaissance mission under the cover of a recovery? Thace was not sure what to think. It had been far too long since he had worked with Zarkon, and he could not get a handle on how he worked now. 

That was a problem for another night, another long, sleepless night, to lament the loss of a friend, a leader. Now, he had to cover his tracks, embrace the job given to him. Be the good soldier Zarkon expected him to be. To salute like he meant it.


	7. Chapter 7

“You will die if you leave those wounds any longer.”

Flinching at the words, she continues to keep her legs tucked under her, even if the skin burns, and she’s sure she can smell something rotting. Maybe it’s just her imagination, and her eyes can’t follow the shadow anymore, as it moves around her cell. Everywhere hurt, and yet she felt like she had transcended pain entirely to feel nothing at all. 

Since she had been pulled free of the aliens, the _other one_ , who had stepped in and spoken in her grandfather’s tongue, she had been kept away in another cell. Removed of collar and cuffs, but left to bleed out. No, no no, that’s not how it was. She had chosen to go this way. That’s right. There was nothing left for her, not after that. No matter how _good_ this other thing may seem to be, it was still one of them. Still one of them who took her crew from her, kept her here for — how long? Too long.

“Leave me,” she rasps, and oh, god, water. She needed water. And oxygen. Her brain was getting too fuddled, heart beating a little faster. Not like before this happened, but somewhere she could remember that sleepiness had overcome her more than once. Did aliens need oxygen? It would be just her luck to be captive to the ones who don’t require it. How much longer could she survive? She didn’t remember the last time she ate. What was the day?

“Unfortunately, I cannot leave you after the bodily harm you inflicted upon the druids.”

Her knowledge of the language was not vast, but the alien used bigger words than her body could process. “What?” she slurs, and it’s English to her ears. Her language. Home’s language.

Now, even the alien looks stumped. Raises its hands into the air, clenching and flexing its fingers, before dropping them to their side again. A surprisingly human reaction, and it’s enough to jumpstart her mind a little. Had it not been for the ears or teeth, for a moment, she could have convinced herself she was in the presence of another human, and her heart lurched at the possibility.

“You will die.” It finally speaks again. “As… repayment.”

“Can’t die. My,” she inhales, sharply, as her chest hurts just from speaking alone. “Friends. Need me.”

“Your friends are dead.”

“Wrong. Somewhere here. Gotta find them.” She hadn’t meant to fall back onto her natural tongue, but she did, head lolling to the side. Maybe the nice alien would take pity on her, and give her some water. Maybe the nice alien would just put her out of her misery. Wait, no death, that was a bad idea. Oh, her legs hurt and _itched_ in all the wrong places. Back in the Garrison, they warned them all about spacer feet. Yet that meant she just got really numb, but this wasn’t the same.

At least the alien had finally decided to stop talking, even if it refused to leave her personal space. She couldn’t decide if she should be annoyed that it was so close, or if she should be thankful someone was actually _near_ her and _talking_ to her. 

“What’s your name?” she asks, before she can stop herself. Keep talking, keep talking to stay alive.

The alien says something, that may have been shock, because its it’s own language. A garble of gruff nosies, a snort. Not unlike an animal. No time to linger, vision fading again. Stay awake, keep talking keep talking. Food. Water. Home. Think of home.

It was not the best idea to think of home, as her head finally falls, chin resting against her chest. Heart rate slowing, and her head is _swimming._ Vaguely, she hears shouts. Thinks it may have been the nice alien, picking her up, carrying her through hallways that reminded her of hospital wards. Lights overhead spaced between each other, making her feel like she was ten years old again, broken arm, tried to show off by jumping from a tree to her roof. Fear was not a welcome emotion, and as her head rolls back, just before her eyelids close, she thinks she sees out a large window. Containers, as far as the eye could see. 

I am afraid. Her last thought before everything goes dark. No feeling in her legs, nails leaving deep enough marks in her arms to draw blood, before she goes loose and a hand flops away from her chest, hanging at an uncomfortable angle. She would miss the look of pity the alien sends her, miss the apology for how she was treated.

She would miss the way to the medical bay, down several halls of the beehive of a ship, a sharp left turn before a right. Miss how she had stained the uniform the alien wore, as he tried to lay her on a bed. Another apology, as he takes on the burn on her leg, the green that had grown. Aliens squabbling over her, no opportunity to make fun at an alien doctor. More arguments, aggressive and threatening, in a language she would never understand. 

Perhaps, that was for the best, that she missed everything that followed. They carry her, settling her inside a pod. Mask, machines, so much talking over the slow and steady heartbeat. Seal her in, strapping her down in case of a struggle, flick a machine, and there’s a hiss, a whirr. Voices rising outside the pod again, a hand striking the glass. A weapon pulled. 

She only wakes for one moment more, when her feet feel wet, and she wants to scream, but can’t. Eyes roll to the back of her head. A strange fluid fills the pod, and it smelt like her grandmother’s cooking, lazy Wednesday nights after school, when they went to the downtown mall for dessert. Like popcorn and the heavy smell of Summer. Her cheeks are wet, before the liquid even reaches her face.


	8. Chapter 8

Thace does not mask his displeasure, as their craft settles down on the empty crater. How anything thrived here was beyond Thace, and he had enough reason to believe that this particular area of debris was likely the cause of Galra. Waiting for clearance, systems check, robots to turn and tell him that they were ready to leave, he slides a look over at Sendak. A little too eager to get his feet on the ground, and Thace fixes his own helmet, locking it in firmly. Waits for pressurisation to make every hair on his body stand on end, to make him remember how once he only had to sit at the helm, and everything adjusted so easily.

“Commander Sendak, when you are ready.”

Despite his apparent promotion to lead the operation, Thace had watched Sendak storm aboard the ship, Haxus at his heel, and take full command. It was getting tiring, watching children pretend they were far more experienced, but whatever Zarkon had whispered, Sendak had taken in well. He was fine to observe, and pulled up the holographic computer at his arm, setting the target.

“It is still showing signs of being several metres below us.”

 _“Then_ find _it.”_

Rolling his eyes, Thace released his finger from the comm at his ear, and waited for the last hiss, as the door slid open before him. Only him and robots going on this little adventure. It had all the markings of an assassination attempt, and Thace was almost offended this was the best they were going to do to him. Clearly, his title of being a former blue paladin hadn’t made its way to the ears of the younger forced entrants of the Galra Empire. Only glory seekers saw him as an old man, who had woken up ten thousand years too late. 

With a click of his tongue, Thace remembered the talk from the last gladiator ring he had ventured too, before leaving. In between off duty soldiers, he had heard them complain. One day, they will appreciate his work. Until then, he was simply in the way.

Several feet before one tunnel entrance, Thace realises that was a very Zarkon way of thinking, and his lip curled. That was definitely not how he wanted to be thinking, not now, not ever. “Sendak,” he finally speaks, eyes following the HUD in front of his eyes, arrow pointing ahead. “You may wish to come down here.”

“ _Are you ordering above your station, Thace?_ ”

“I’m being polite and suggesting that you remove yourself from the ship and get down here. As far as I’m aware, you’ve never been outside our system.”

Behind him, robots click and gears whirr, something that shouldn’t happen. Turning, he notes no raised weapons, and would never admit a relieved sigh left him. Whatever Sendak had said, he had not received it, and assumed it was disabling the robots. To leave him unprotected, perhaps, in case something emerged from the depths within?

No, it was simply one man’s pride, as he comes storming towards the entrance, far from the ship. Pushing past Thace and into the cave, Sendak does not send robots to scout ahead. So inexperienced and ready to please, that he had not considered this may have been something to get rid of him. Ignoring his own personal safety, Thace quite liked the idea that maybe Zarkon was actually working to remove Sendak from the picture, despite how unlikely it seemed. 

 But he follows behind Sendak, listens to Haxus talking, noting he forgot to turn to personal communications. Children, they were practically only children, with how they acted, forgot protocols, simple actions to save oneself. What had Zarkon promised when he had reached out to them, whispering such enticing things. Clearly, Thace could still remember what Zarkon had sworn to give him, when he had turned his back on Altea. 

“ _What do you suggest we do?”_

 _“We remind him why_ I _am the commander here.”_

_“But, Sendak—“_

_“It is_ Commander _Sendak.”_

_“Of course…”_

With a snort, Thace clicked his helmet, turning on all communications. If they wished for him to give Sendak experience, then he shall have it in the only way a Galra soldier could understand. “Turn off the recorder in your helmets. All of you.”

There is hesitation, and it was not from the robots. They do simply as ordered, the perfect soldiers, ones who do not raise a weapon, demanding answers. “How dare you!”

“I think I should be the one saying that to _you_.” Sendak is not fast enough, missing how Thace leaps forward. He was thankful he had taken the initiative to return to simulations, as that familiar rush fills him — grappling with technology was one thing, but throwing one of his men to the floor was another. Haxus is regrettably slow, young, fumbling with his weapon as Sendak lands on his back. Makes no move to get up, shame slowing him down too easily. Thace was embarrassed for the both of them.

“As if a red lion would be somewhere as _lowly_ as a meteor.” Of course there were no signatures. Fake ones, planted by who, Thace would find out later. But whatever glory this _commander_ was seeking, it was not here. Not from Thace’s death, and not from stumbling across something great and powerful. His glory would lie in suffering. 

Under his boot, Sendak’s arm twitched, fingers curling, moving towards Thace’s ankle. But Thace was more experienced with hand to hand combat, and living up to his title of an a former paladin, he drew his boot up, watched Sendak’s eyes dim behind his visor. “Next time you leave our system, I suggest you read the brief.”

Sendak screams in his ear, as he brings his foot down. Channeling all his rage into that one movement, Thace can hear the crack of the armour, or maybe just the crack of bone. Whatever it was, it had sent a very clear message, one Sendak would not forget soon.


	9. Chapter 9

Bowing his head low, he remembered the passages like the back of his hand. He had to, of course, or Sister Emily would get mad at him again. And he didn’t want that, not after seeing Jonathan get sent to the corner last week, simply because he took the dinosaur off Charlie. It wasn't his fault though, that Charlie had started crying, and Keito joined in. Charlie was still new, and Keito was too young, and Jonathan was getting too old. He himself was just the right age, and Sister Justine told him that if he behaved really well, someone would come for him soon.

He really, _really_ hoped so! He would be so good, he had told the last adults that too, just so they knew. Showed them his paintings, and the toy plane he still had. Sure, there were a few stickers on there, and he’d tried to clean off the weird papery bits, but it was still good. He was still good. 

Oops, he hadn’t realised he’d been sticking out his tongue, as he thought too hard about what to say next time. Next time people came to see them, when they put on their best suits and were _good_. So good. He would be taken home soon, and it would be like he had a mum again. Maybe a dad too! That was the most exciting part. Having a mum _and_ a dad. Maybe siblings. He wouldn’t so alone then. Even if Jessie was like an annoying little sister, stealing all his colourful pens, hiding under his bed to draw when she thought he didn’t know.

Another smack of paper to the back of his head. Missed everyone standing again. Mumbles a sorry, and stands for a few seconds before everyone sits once more. His feet dangle, toes barely scraping the floor. They said he would get big soon too, maybe he’ll grow again over the summer. Just a little more and he’d be able to touch the ground, and not get teased by the bigger kids. Not his fault they were so _mean,_ they just had to wait until he was a bit taller.

Then he’d be good enough. No one would pass him over then, just because he was a little shorter, a little skinnier, a little littler. He had heard the sisters talk about him in the halls, when he was _not_ snooping (just trying to sneak into the kitchen). Oh right, he should apologise for that too since he was here. Clasps his hands together once more. But, he remembered what the sisters said, whispering that he was ‘underdeveloped’. He didn’t know what that word meant, but it sounded bad. 

Maybe he should ask Father Matthew later. He would know what that word meant, since he knew so many big and fancy words. ‘Underdeveloped’. Another clip to the head, a sigh of “Takashi” and he knows he’s in trouble. 

“Sorry,” Takashi whispers back, not realising he’d been speaking aloud. Bad habit, had to get rid of it before more adults showed up. Did he miss the rest of the proceedings? This would get back to Sister Josephine, and then he’d be in trouble. Big trouble. Takashi begins to follow the other kids out, until he’s halted. Running up the back of Ciara, who scowls.

Before he has time to move, apologise, there’s a scuffle outside. And there’s _never_ a scuffle, but Takashi is repeating the words from the sister who has just run in, and follows adults outside, none of them ready to turn prying eyes away. 

Big cars, bigger than anything Takashi had seen except on the television when they were allowed movies on Friday nights. Even then, these were _bigger_ , and if he stood next to one of them, he wasn’t sure he’d be taller than the wheel. Maybe if he stood on his tippy-toes. Takashi waits for the adults to stop yelling, and sneaks over to one of the cars, lining himself up by the wheel.

Then he’s raised into the air by the collar of his shirt, and he’s _scared_. Calling for one of the sisters, Emily, Josie! help me! Wriggling to free himself but the man is yelling at him to _stop_ _kicking dammit_. Doesn’t matter, and he’s crying and reaching out as it’s Mary who runs forward, taking Takashi in her arms. She’s yelling at the man who picked him up but he’s too busy wrapping his arms around her neck to repeat her words. 

“Didn’t wanna accidentally run him over, ma’am.”

Sister Mary makes a noise Takashi had never heard her make before, and they’re walking back towards home. Staring over her shoulder, Takashi sniffles, watching as the man takes his cap off his head, rolling it in his hands. 

“‘orry,” he mumbles, when they’re back with the others.

“It’s okay, Takashi. No more running off though, promise me?”

“I promise.” Set back down on the ground, he doesn’t let go of her, watching as the older children are brought outside. None of the adults look happy, even as more men come from the cars, wearing the same suit. Hiding behind Sister Mary’s skirt, Takashi sees one man in particular step forward.

He speaks, and Takashi doesn’t understand what he’s saying. But then the man points towards the sky, and smiles. “Have you ever wanted to fly amongst the stars?”

Takashi remembers his toy plane and his dad, even if he doesn’t tell the sisters. Eyes follow how the man talks about being up amongst the clouds, and Takashi remembers his mum telling him their dad left, and how she was sorry, as she dropped him off one night. Driving off into the night. Into the stars. Left him in the desert where the sky goes on and on.

He’s too little to understand why he wants to fly, but he promised Sister Mary he would be good. Not run off. Adults would be here to adopt soon, and that was the end of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i do have an explanation for time in this it will come soon  
> mostly you cant use time on earth as a time for universes way way away  
> which is why i'm introducing shiro now


	10. Chapter 10

“Again.”

Deep breaths, raised arm, bent knees. Learning a new form to fight in was exhausting, but she had little room to complain. Especially not since they hadn’t completely thrown her to the dogs, and healed her where most people would not have bothered. Aliens. She still had not decided if aliens would use the word ‘people’ or something else. Their language was still clicks and shrieks in her ears, and despite the use of Altean, it made her miss English terribly ( _home_ ).

Would they consider themselves _the people_ and her the alien? She didn’t have time to think it over, as one of the machines cut a fist forward, and she had to duck. Roll out the way as a knee followed the movement, and it was so weird getting used to her body once again. All those days, weeks, huddled in a little corner of a room made her stiff. Whatever they had thrown her into had given her a sense of new muscles, ready to be reformed, reworked. Strengthened too, notably. She had broken the last robot with several firm punches to the shield, something that pleased her new

Hm, she still didn’t know what to call the alien who had saved her. Was he something that passed as her new commanding officer? It was a nicer thing to call him besides her ‘owner’. There was too much saddled with that word that left a bad taste in her mouth. 

Swinging her leg out, she caught the robot by surprise, flooring him. The simulation breaks, and slowly she pushes herself up to stand. Despite the way she can still feel that rush when she flexes her fingers, teaching her body everything once again was taking its toll. “Are we done?” she asks, tongue catching around the last word, dragging the syllable out for too long. Something to practice against the wall again that night (or was it day?). Talking to herself in a little room was beginning to be the highlight of her day.

Just barely, she catches the disgruntled look that passes over the alien’s face. It was discerning, noting they lacked pupils, but she watched the way his mouth tightened, and how his two lower teeth seemed to protrude more, and knew she pissed him off. Biting back an answer, she had to remind herself she couldn’t talk to the aliens like she did her instructors back home. There was no camaraderie in space.

“Fine.”

Only the fourth word that had been spoken to her today. Marched from her room with only the word “come”, being ushered into the middle of the room, followed by a “start”. Too abrupt, too few words for her to work with. Orders had never bothered her before, not like this. All too _cold,_ even though they were deep in space and she was always cold, regardless. Spacer feet, all that. 

Even if they had fitted her out in a suit, something to help her gravitational pull, given her a mask to breathe, it was still too cold. She wanted her jacket. The last piece she had to remind her of home.

“Prorok, you need to talk to me.” His name was still foreign, a sound that didn’t seem right as it left her. Was the pronunciation on her tongue in English, or Altean? Or was it supposed to be something else, with the way he seemed to twitch. 

“I have nothing to say.”

“Drills. All day. All week.” Broken Altean, but it was good enough to get her message across. She was getting antsy, and so was he. It must be awful to have ears that twitch, and give away nerves.

Prorok’s lip curls, oddly fascinating to watch it happen around those big teeth of his. “Are you disagreeing with something that will keep you alive?”

Blinking, she knows she only caught a few words. With a wave of her hands to her ears, before forming an ‘x’ with her hands, she can only shake her head. She would have thought that with the advanced technology she had seen so far, a translator would have been so simple. “Repeat, please.”

“Do not argue.”

“Explain, please.” Another press, although the ‘please’ this time slips out in English. Altean manners were pleasant enough to her own ears, a string of melodic words, but it was just automatic to fall back to her first language. A struggle not to use her second over her third, but she was sure if she spoke the language she spoke at home, then they really would not be getting anywhere.

“I saved your life. I do not think I have much to explain to you.”

Her jaw clenches, and it was like he was purposely stringing a long sentence together. Trying to make her stop pressing him by confusing her. An old, petty tactic, relying on a supreme lack of patience. Unfortunately for Prorok, patience was something her mother’s side had down to an art form. “Explain. Please.”

He frowns, and she watches that clear film slide over his eyes before the lid follows. Worried now. From what she had gathered, watching Prorok for the last few days, was that he was far too nervous about something. If it was her continued existence, then she could understand. Maybe. Enough science fiction books told her that her being alive on board the alien ship could only mean back things for the chain of command — oh! she was beginning to remember things now. How had she only just noticed?

Was it that stuff she had woken up in? Looking down at her hands, she notices the smooth skin once more, deeply unsettled. That liquid they had cased her in had done something. Wiped her clean, taking away every scar, every weakness, every memory of Earth, and left her ready to be moulded. Science fiction told her this meant she could be a super soldier if she tried hard enough.

Yet the look on Prorok’s face told her otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am (working) on a progressive timeline for this to reflect time in space working vs time on earth working  
> mostly bc i introduced shiro before this chapter... and I've stated several times this is 20yrs prior to the start of the show bc shiro exists and keith doesnt yet hah
> 
> but where thace, prorok and the galra are right now, its not quite there yet... if you get me... i'll get there eventually lol and have a timeline for this which i'll update as i progress in story


End file.
